


Waking Up

by Avenn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Reincarnation!AU, good!Morgana, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avenn/pseuds/Avenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin awoke to darkness, but his day would end in the light of hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own any of this (except Jak) and aim to make no profit off this work.  
> In case it was unclear, Jak (OC obviously) is married to Morgana and the older brother of Merlin. This fic was loosely inspired by Radioactive by Imagine Dragons and artwork by Oyonok. This was written for my amazing friend, partner-in-crime, and on again off again beta, Bleedy. Thanks girly for everything.

_I'm waking up to ash and dust_  
 _I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust_  
 _I'm breathing in the chemicals_  
 _I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus_  
 _This is it, the apocalypse_

_Apocalypse: noun \ə-ˈpä-kə-ˌlips\ - the expectation of an imminent cosmic cataclysm in which God destroys the ruling powers of evil and raises the righteous to life in a messianic kingdom; something viewed as a prophetic revelation_

He awoke to darkness. This was not particularly surprising. He had spent enough mornings that even in the dark, the warm familiarity of his room blinded him with clarity. Back in the golden days, Merlin had relished sleeping in, loved the sun slowly slipping into his room, feeling the warmth against his skin as the city awoke with him, stretching and yawning as chickens squawked and people bartered for their daily bread. Even with such a horrible bed, Merlin had been able to sleep in. Sometimes when he awoke from a nightmare, he imagined he was still on that little cot. The catch of the coarse blanket on his skin, prickles of hay leaving him feeling like he was laying on a bed of needles--and yet it had been so lavish compared to the cold stone floor and single blanket he had had back home.

Such a long time ago that was. Back then, it seemed as if every day dawned better than the last, a life of eternal summer and joy; filled with challenges that could be conquered and good times to be had by all.

Now there was only ash and darkness.

Merlin sat up in bed, eyes blinking against the darkness of his room, his bones creaking in protest. Feet slid softly to the floor, a soft sigh echoed in the empty room and he began his morning routine. He padded across the room to a small chest of drawers, well oiled and making not a sound as it slid open. Merlin grinned slightly, his hand resting on top of it; he had acquired this particular piece in Venice in the 1700’s--gifted to him by a silk merchant as thanks for helping with a slight bandit problem.

_Jak would have been proud--_

No. No time to think of such things. He roughly yanked out a fresh pair of boxers and undershirt and slammed the drawer shut, gaining a small bitter seed of satisfaction from the sound of the muffled thump. He turned and slunk to the small hole in his room that doubled as a bathroom. The click of the chain turning on a single naked bulb was like the click of a gun being loaded--harsh white light glared down on Merlin, making him squint impossibly. How ironic it was--one single pale fluorescent light and his eyes felt as if he was staring straight into dragon fire, black dots blooming in his vision like a psychedelic high that he knew far too well. Once upon a time he stared directly at the sun for hours on end, drawing shapes in the air in a field of golden wheat with his king at his side. Had awoken to the sun after every restful night of sleep. Now, he could hardly sleep for three hours at a time.

Those prats really should hurry it up.

The fact of the matter was, Merlin was tired. If he was honest with himself, he had been tired for a while. Everything was mechanical--it was as if his own personal apocalypse had happened that day, so long ago that sometimes he wondered if it had all been one long dream or a trip down the rabbit hole. It certainly felt like it most days. How could that world--that world of emerald green pastures and violet skies, that world of sapphire seas and golden wheat and _life everywhere_ be the same as the cold metal canvas he was currently splattered across? That’s what it felt like. He wasn’t living. He had been shot long ago, right through the heart--blood and guts splattering across a grey and metal canvas, leaving him to stagger pathetically through a half-life of eternal pain and dwindling hope.

Jeans were on. Shirt slid down his too lithe frame. Gwen would tsk at him and hand him a piece of sweet bread with that signature guilty grin of hers--the one that made anyone and everyone forgive her for crimes not yet committed. The material was smooth worn cotton, a shirt that was on the edge of unraveling on itself it had been through the wash so many times, soft and secure as a baby’s blanket. And yet to Merlin, it felt as coarse as the too big tunic he had worn once upon a memory. He would have preferred that damn tunic, in all its too big, coarse, scratchy, faded and patched glory if only because then he would be with them.

Be with Arthur.

Another soft sigh filled the room, followed by the click of the light bulb and he was ensconced in darkness once more. Like the thick weight of Arthur’s arms around him, Merlin gathered the darkness--hid in it all the ugly emotions that had lingered for so many years. He was so tired--he just wanted his family again. He wanted Gwaine with his incredibly sexy hair, Gwen with her subtle joy, Lance with his overwhelming sense of honor. He wanted his brother, his sister-in-law, so terribly in love he had often joked he was going to be sick. He wanted his own love. He missed golden hair that shone in noon-day light. He missed the fierce wind on the battlements, whipping crimson banners into a proud frenzy, missed brilliant white teeth flashing him a grin that sung of love and pure unfiltered joy. He missed Arthur damnit.

And yet...he almost hoped they wouldn’t come back, that they wouldn’t have to see the world.

It was not the world they had left so many hundreds of years ago. Every day the world became darker. The rain soaked into his bones, froze the blood in his veins, dulled his mind. War, crime, rape, affairs, genocide, suicide, cutting, drinking, drugs--the world was spiraling to its doom and no one thought to put on the brakes. They would all be so disappointed in the world.

_They’ll be disappointed in you. Merlin wished he could shoot that voice out of his head. The greatest sorcerer the world will ever see--isn’t that what Kilgarah said? I wonder if he still thought that when you let a flaming ball of pitch maim him for the rest of his very short life._

A growl escaped him and if he had noticed, he would not have realized he was capable of making such a noise. It was a lie--the voice was a lie. Jak could never be disappointed in him--Arthur would see how hard he had tried to keep the world a good place--Morgana would scoff and blame the idiots running Parliament...right?

The darkness was too much. He was drowning now. Drowning in the cesspool of human corruption, could feel it crawling under his skin like thick tendrils of darkness; oily thick, like the blood of a demon was sinking into him. It almost had him now--he could see it. All that held him on this damned world was the blood of a demon anchoring down a ghost--a shell of what was once a great sorcerer. He could see inside himself, could see the hollow bones, the dark channels of his veins, his slowly beating heart, every thump a struggle against nature. He could see what remained of his magic--of his hope. A small kernel of brilliant light, tendrils of the blackest black slowly strangling the life out of it--like a great oak tree invaded by weeds.

A gasping sob wracked his body, lurching forward as the air was physically expelled from his body, a pain so fierce his chest felt like it was cleaved in two. Gods--what was he thinking--what was he even doing here anymore--this world was over, if not today then sometime soon. Humanity was beyond saving--his family--his Arthur was waiting for him. He was shaking now. It was almost a relief to feel such pain. To see that his hands were shaking--that his eyes were still capable of producing tears--he felt real again. And with a shuddering breath he embraced his pain, swallowed it whole and became a part of society once more, let human tragedy connect him with the billions of other lost souls on this planet. He could do this--he could keep on living. He could keep on waiting, because he knew someday they would come back and together they would save this world.

Slowly, finger by finger, he unclenched his fists, joints aching and material wrinkled from how hard he had gripped it. A deep breath. Two. Three. Four. He was ready. Merlin slipped on his jacket, hood tossed up over messy dark hair he hadn’t bothered brushing and he stepped outside..

He breathed in deeply, breathed in the poisonous chemicals in the air, tasted the bloody rust on his tongue, could see the ozone shimmering in the smoggy gloom of modern London. He repeated those words over and over in his head as he let himself be caught up in a slow stream of people. The trudge of modernity was exactly what he needed this day.

_I can survive. I can keep waiting. They will arrive. We will unite Albion. The King will rise again._

So caught up in his thought, Merlin didn’t notice the small green plant in the pot on the windowsill of a flower shop that had long gone under. It was a frail little bean stalk but it was such a stark green against the otherwise grey world that many people had stopped to glance at it, a smile stubbornly tugging on their solemn mouths.

Merlin didn’t notice it though, nor did he notice the crisp scent of wood smoke cutting through the smog until three blocks into his commute. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, head down and hood up against the rain, brows wrinkled in painful confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time he smelt something other than ozone and burning plastic. And yet...somewhere in the city, a fire was burning. Not for any purpose other than to warm and comfort its occupants and the thick heady scent of oak was like a taste of rich chocolate after years of living on crackers. Hesitantly, he began walking once more, senses on alert now.

And--

There.

There it was.

A red butterfly floating on the breeze. With the salt off the ocean, with a fire burning in his heart and hope blooming once more, he knew.

They were coming.

The guardians of Albion were awakening once more.

And while Merlin had awoken to darkness, here he saw the dawn once more.

\---

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was darkness. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were closed or not--she thought she was blinking but her eyes were not adjusting. They felt weak--filled with sleep like she had slept too long, but it had only been one night, hadn’t it? Her memories were foggy, like she had just awoken from a vision but...stronger.

The next thing she noticed was the cold. It was not a cold she was used to. It trickled down her spine, a numbing chill that squeezed her heart tightly. It was not the cold of a lonely bed that she had to endure when Jak was gone on long patrols across the Kingdom. It was deeper than that. Something was off. She flexed her magic, letting it expand outward but even it seemed hesitant--fragile almost. It bundled in the center of her chest, almost hissing at her as she poked it out. But Morgana had not been High Priestess for nothing and eventually it unfurled, reluctantly stretching into the air around her. She knew she was not in her room anymore, could not sense the wood beams that framed her bed nor the silk canopy that draped down. The air was filled not with the heady smoke she associated with her love but was instead musty. Damp. Stale.

Her limbs feel impossibly heavy and she has a slight moment of fear--it felt just as it did in her vision so long ago; chains pulling her down into the depths of the ocean where her spark--her flame and husband could never reach her.

It was this thought that gave her the energy to move. She started with the merest twitch of her fingers, could feel her heart pounding in her chest, feeding her limbs with life and magic. It was a victory when she weakly clenched her fist just as she was able to wriggle her toes. It felt like eternity, her mind racing ahead of her body, trying to understand the blackness she was trapped in while her body slowly came back to life.

Came back to life.

The words triggered something deep within Morgana. A memory. Of her and Jak, old and weathered and laying in their marriage bed and closing their eyes for the last time--

_What has happened?_

Morgana clearly remembered her last night in this realm of the living. And yet...she has awoken. And as her body continues to awaken, it does not bear the signs of old age. She feels...young again.

And as she thinks it, youth surges through her as her magic explodes outward, light everywhere around her now, bouncing back against walls that are too close to her and bouncing the light back like daggers into her eyes. Tears spring to her eyes as her world shifts on its axis, everything suddenly becoming clear.

She did die.

She knows she died not just because of her memories.

But because she was currently in her coffin.

She lashed out then, a desperate and panicked instinct to being trapped--the fight or flight instincts of her ancestors causing her to fight back against the prison of stone.

Miraculously, the stone shattered under the blow, rubble crumbling down on her and sweet pure air hitting her face like a tidal wave. As she staggered out of her stone prison, the Earth gave a shuddering breath all around her as the last High Priestess of the Old Religion rose once again.

As the rubble died down and she picked her way through what she now saw was a cave, dim with natural light, Morgana began to formulate her plan. Find her family, figure out what world she now lived.

But first, find the spark that lit her heart.

_Hearth: **noun** \ˈhärth\_  
 _-the floor of a fireplace_  
 _-the section of a furnace that the ore or metal is exposed directly to the flame, allowing it to become malleable_  
 _-the creative and vital center of a community_  
 _-home_

\---  


Arthur awoke to fire in his lungs and the sharp pain of steel in his side. He tried to jerk up, hand flying to his side to stem the wound--but nothing was there. He could still sense the wound--pain like he never imagined, so deep inside him that it wrought his soul in half. And yet the sickly flow of blood had stopped--it no longer clung to his skin, no longer throbbed with each weaker heartbeat. The fire wasn’t fire though it still burned his lungs. He swallowed a mouthful of water--two before instincts kicked in and he pushed off--up up and out of the water in blinding sunlight.

He drew in a haggard breath, muscles screaming in protest at the sudden exertion, tears springing to his eyes from the light and the sudden coughing up of ice cold water. He took a step before falling to his knees, armor dragging him down, sticking in the muddy shore of the lake. The land--this was not his land. Grey skies, heavy with smoke and strange scents that reminded him of Gaius’ potions covered the land--the land was barren of trees, not even grass grossing along the rocks of the lake. The worst of all though, were the great tear tracts the goddesses had left across the land--strips of a hard blackness stretched as far as the eye could see. Huge strange castles crowded the landscape--and everything was so _loud_. There was a low roaring, high whining, whooshing and screeching and clashing and sounds Arthur could not even begin to describe.

And in all this darkness, Arthur saw a light. A man in a red tunicked hood with a blue neckerchief stood along the shore, like a willow tree, unmovable through time and yet swaying with the breeze. He was just as Arthur remembered. Pale and sharp features, untameable black hair and piercing blue eyes. Jutting cheekbones and plump lips. Wide eyes taking in all the beauty in the world, blind to the evil. He looked like a statue, a relic of a time long past gone; for Arthur knew that time had passed--knew it in his bones that felt out of place in this new land. And yet the statue in front of him was no statue as he slowly began to move towards the water--towards Arthur.

Arthur fought his senses, ignored the pain shooting through him as he forced fatigued muscles to push past their limit. He met him on the shore, rising out of the lake, shivering from the cold, water pouring out of his armor, dripping into his eyes. When Merlin embraced him, warmth flooded through him. When foreheads pressed together as lips touched, the water dripping from his eyes was no longer lake water. His heart jumped into overdrive, thudding away as if calling Merlin home. He had so many things to say to him, so many questions and fears and sweet words of relief that they all got jumbled in his throat, felt too thick on his tongue.

“By God Merlin--what are you wearing?”

Merlin smiled against his lips, dragging Arthur out of the water. His hand felt warm in his, and as they walked away from the lake, Arthur felt rested and at home once more.

“I have a lot to tell you Arthur, but first we need to find our family--we have a lot of work to be done.”

_I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones_  
 _Enough to make my systems blow_  
 _Welcome to the new age, to the new age_


End file.
